Pretty Dead (7 page)

Night scents drifted in through the front door, and a siren could be heard off in the distance, coming from the vicinity of River Street.

“Something weird’s in the air,” David said.

“There’s always something weird in the air. This is Savannah.”

He gave a slow and thoughtful shake of his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s the murders, or . . .”

“Are you psychic now?”

Distracted, David looked toward the door. “You feel anything?”

“A nice breeze.” She didn’t add that he was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Not because of his words, but because he was the one who’d said them. David wasn’t given to the impractical or the fanciful.

“I’ve had this feeling before, and I don’t like it,” he said.

“When have you had it?”

“I don’t remember, but it’s familiar.”

“Déjà vu.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Had she detected a slight drawl? “Are you picking up a Southern accent?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You are.”

“Have you gone to see your dad?” Abrupt change of subject.

“No.”

“Going to?”

“No.”

“He wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Okay.” David grasped her gently by the shoulders, leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, then released her. She flinched a little, but not much. And if he noticed, he didn’t let on. “I’m taking off. Thanks for dinner. Thanks for the beer. Sorry about Avery. See you tomorrow. The hooker thing is a really bad idea.”

And he left.

“It was okay,” Audrey said. “Kinda wished I’d stayed home and hung out with you guys.”

“You would have been bored,” Elise told her. “We were talking murder.”

They were standing in the kitchen, and Audrey had just gotten back from the dance. “Those girls?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Kids at school are saying they deserved it.”

“They’re just repeating what they heard their parents say. Nobody deserves anything like that. Nobody.” This was a hot button for Elise. There’d been times in the past when a murder wasn’t treated with the attention it deserved because the victim was a drug addict or a prostitute. That attitude was one she planned to change now that she was head of homicide. In fact, it had been one of the deciding factors behind her taking the position. Equality for every victim.

“Even the ones who think it’s awful are saying we don’t need to worry. I mean, regular girls. What do you think? Is it only prostitutes and drug addicts that are getting killed?”

“That seems to be the MO.”

“Kids are also saying it’s a serial killer. Is that what you and David think?”

“We don’t know yet, baby girl.” Elise reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Audrey’s ear in a gesture meant to reassure. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you about the case, but I really shouldn’t be talking about this to anybody outside the police department.”

Audrey backed into the counter and levered herself up to sit on top of it, legs dangling. “I won’t say anything. Not a word.”

“Your friends will try to pump you.”

She shrugged and grabbed a bag of tortilla chips, removed the clip, and dug inside. “I won’t say anything.” She took a bite of chip.

“It’s too early in the investigation to form any strong opinions.” Elise didn’t add that they had very few leads. No sense in causing undue alarm.

“But David . . . He’s a profiler. Is he profiling?”

“He’s working on it. We’re at the brainstorming stage right now.”

“He’ll figure it out.”

Elise smiled at Audrey’s obvious favoritism. “And I won’t?” she teased.

“You aren’t a profiler like David.”

Elise thought about David’s last big profiling case. The killer who got away. She didn’t mention that either.

“Ready for another episode of
Doctor Who
?” Elise asked.

Audrey folded the chip bag, replaced the clip, and jumped down from the counter.

Upstairs in bed, Elise turned on the television, hit the Netflix button, and scrolled to the
Doctor Who
icon. Audrey joined her, lying on her stomach, chin in hands, head at the bottom of the bed. When the episode ended and the credits rolled, Audrey looked over her shoulder at her mother.

“Dad called today.”

Not unusual. He called Audrey a couple of times a week.

“He heard about the murders, and he wants me to move to Seattle to live with him. He says it’s too dangerous in Savannah.”

Elise’s heart sank. She didn’t want Audrey to leave, yet she understood the concern.

“What did you tell him?” Elise asked with caution.

“That I wanted to stay here.”

Of course she’d want to remain near her friends.

“With you.”

Elise released her breath. “If David or I feel you might be in danger, I’ll consider Seattle, but right now I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about, other than taking the precautions anybody should normally take.” Things she’d schooled Audrey about many times. And yet now that the idea of Audrey’s leaving had been presented, Elise couldn’t help thinking about possible dangers. Elise wasn’t the best person to be around. She’d made a lot of enemies. She was still making enemies. “Safe” wasn’t a part of her existence.

Audrey got up from the bed. All shiny hair and long, beautiful legs beneath her pink sleep shirt. Not a child, but a young woman. When had she turned into an adult?
Was
she in danger?

“And Grandpa’s here now,” Audrey said.

“Grandpa?”

“Your dad.”

“You call him Grandpa?” Elise was appalled.

“He’s my grandfather.”

“Did he ask you to call him that?” And worse: “Have you seen him recently?”

“He didn’t ask me to call him Grandpa. It was my idea. We’ve had tea together a few times. He was waiting for me when I got out of school one day.”

Jesus H.

“He’s going to teach me some stuff. Like rootwork. Maybe even some easy spells. He says it’s time for him to pass the mantle, and since you aren’t interested in it . . .”

Elise sat up straighter. “I want you to stay away from him.”

Audrey’s face darkened. “He’s my grandfather, and I’ll see him if I want to.”

Elise couldn’t deny that there was something compelling and mesmerizing about Jackson Sweet. Audrey probably felt flattered that he’d even noticed her, let alone spoken to her and taken her for tea. “We don’t know anything about him.”

“David thinks he’s okay. Strata Luna thinks he’s okay.”

“He could be a very bad man.”

“Guess I’ll find out.” Audrey flounced from the room.

CHAPTER 9

C
hrist, Elise.”

“What do you think? Too demure?”

Elise and David stood in their shared office. The only other witness to her outfit was Jay Thomas, who waited near the closed door watching the interaction with something that struck Elise as feigned disinterest. But there was one thing she was quickly learning about Jay Thomas Paul: he was always listening and watching.

“Those weren’t the words that came to mind,” David said.

Elise had decided against the tacky-hooker look and opted for somewhat tasteful but still sexy. Hopefully. Black high heels, bare legs, a floral dress that might have been considered sweet if not for a neckline that exposed more of her breasts than anybody other than her gynecologist had seen in ages, and a hemline so short, the dress could almost pass for a long top. Her hair hung loose and shiny; her bangs arranged above darkened brows. With Audrey’s help, makeup had been expertly applied, and when Elise looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. It was no surprise her own partner had done a double take.

Maybe she’d gone too far, but it had bothered her that nobody thought she could pull it off.

Couldn’t blame them. She’d doubted it too. She’d never felt sexy and had never been one to turn heads, although upon occasion she’d been told she simply didn’t notice the turning heads. Maybe that was true, especially in light of Avery’s revelation.

In high school, she’d been consciously and subconsciously infatuated with all things root doctor. Because of that, she’d learned a spell she’d used to catch a boy—a boy who later married her. Maybe a shrink would say that was where her relationship problems originated, and that might very well be true. She couldn’t say whether the spell really worked or if it had simply been a coincidence, but deep down it was now ingrained in her subconscious that the only way to attract a guy was for the attraction to come from somewhere else. A mojo. A love spell, like the follow-me-boy she’d used so long ago.

She wasn’t a profiler, but in dealing with criminals, she’d learned that most of the behavior they exhibited began in childhood. She was no different. And now, with David gawking at her as if she’d suddenly turned into this sexual being instead of Elise the cop . . . well, it could almost go to her head.

Almost.

She went through the gaudy gold bag she’d picked up at Goodwill. Mace, handcuffs, her badge, gun, cigarettes, and red lipstick. Everything a girl needed. “Let’s go.”

Their destination was Jefferson Street, where the first victim had been known to hang out. Unmarked car. David at the wheel, Jay Thomas Paul in the backseat. Elise had decided a wire wasn’t necessary. She had her phone and a gun, and David would stick close. This wasn’t a sting operation; she was just after information. The last thing she wanted was to alienate the very people who might help them crack the case.

David pulled to the curb. She slid out, shut the door, then leaned in the open window.

She’d chosen one of the bleaker areas of Savannah, of which there were many. Where even the streets and buildings were sad and uncared for, littered with trash and graffiti, the weedy sidewalks claustrophobically narrow, butting up against windowless buildings of questionable purpose.

“Thanks, darlin’.” She gave David a smile and an accidental view of deep cleavage. “Don’t be a stranger.”

She read his expression, could see he still wanted to stop her. She saw him clamp down on his response, give up, give in. “I’ll be close.”

She played along in case anybody was within hearing. “You’re too damn sweet for your own good.”

“I can be more than sweet.”

“I’m sure you can. Next time.” She straightened away from the car and he drove off, but she knew he’d circle around and come back to park at a safe distance.

A woman stepped from the shadows. Blond, limp hair with dark roots. Short denim skirt and black ankle boots. Hard to tell her age. She looked forty, but could have been twenty. Prostitution and drugs aged people.

“This is my corner,” she barked in a smoker’s voice. “Find another spot.”

“I had to leave my street,” Elise said. “Two girls were killed, so I’m looking for a new place. Something safer. I can move on, but I saw you out here and thought it might be better not to work alone.”

The woman’s tough attitude and hostility faded. “I heard about them girls,” she said, with fear in her voice. “People are saying it’s a serial killer.”

“That’s what I heard too.”

“Nobody cares. The mayor don’t care and the cops don’t care.” The woman waved her arms in frustration. “I’m sick of this town. I just want to make enough money to get out. Maybe go to LA; I don’t know.”

Elise pulled out a pack of cigarettes and shook one at the prostitute, who took it. Elise lit her own, then passed the lighter. As she exhaled, she released an inner sigh—the cigarette tasted good. She remembered this feeling, and she hoped to hell a few drags didn’t start something. She hadn’t had a smoke in a year, and it had been several years since she’d been serious about it.

She took another deep drag.
Damn.
“Did you know them? Either of the girls?” she asked.

“Layla Jean. The first one, but not good. Like we didn’t hang out or compare notes or anything, but I seen her around, talked to her sometimes. Just shoot the shit.”

“Ever see anything suspicious?” Elise asked. “Like anything that just made you feel like something wasn’t right?”

The woman laughed. “Honey, I see a lot of weird things. Girls like me are weird magnets.”

“You know what I mean. That sixth sense that kicks in.”

“What are you?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A cop?”

“Would that matter?”

Hesitant to be pulled into conversation with a possible officer, the woman grudgingly said, “We all got a sixth sense. All of us in this business. You gotta have it to survive. You learn pretty fast which cars to skip. You open that door and you look at the potential client and in a split second you make a decision. That one girl who was killed? The first one? I’m pretty sure she was a pro. I saw her cuss people out and flip ’em off. She was tough. She knew her stuff. So to have two girls fall for somebody—that’s scary. Makes you think he doesn’t come across as a creep.”

Since the woman had already pegged her as a fake, Elise didn’t try to play the part of a hooker. She talked to her the way she’d talk to anybody. “The worst killers are incredible actors,” Elise said. “They convince people of their trustworthiness.” Elise didn’t add that it was the serial killer MO. “Killers can be extremely charming. You need to remember that.”

“You
are
a cop, right?”

Elise took another drag. “How could I be a cop? You said the cops didn’t care.”

“Cop.” Spit out with conviction. The woman moved closer. She looked over her shoulder, then back at Elise, seemingly prepared to share information, when the exchange was interrupted by a potential customer. A long black car crept up the street, then stopped. The back window dropped silently, and a man looked at them from the deep recesses of the backseat. Suit. Dark skin, immaculately groomed, about Elise’s age.

The woman inhaled sharply, whispered to Elise, “That’s Tyrell King. Layla Jean went with him the night she was murdered. He comes here a lot. Drug dealer. Pays with whatever you’re lookin’ for. Got some good stuff, that’s for sure. He’s the guy we all want. Nice body, clean, polite, doesn’t go for anything too kinky. Sometimes all he’s after is a blow job.”

“You,” Tyrell said. “Blondie. C’mere.”